


The things you said

by fandammit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, tumblr prompt meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandammit/pseuds/fandammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the things Abby and Marcus say to one another. Based on the prompt meme "The things you said..." Reposted from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When you thought I was asleep

They lay down next to each other on the floor, the scent of dirt and blood still heavy in the air. Tomorrow they will have to find a way down the tower. Tomorrow they will find a way to pick up the pieces. 

Tonight they must find a way to live with all they’ve done.

Abby holds her spine rigid and straight, though he can see exhaustion drape itself across the lines of her body. She stares at the direction at the space where Clarke is, shrouded in darkness with Bellamy as they speak in low tones. 

“Abby, sleep,” he says, reaching out a tentative hand and laying it on her shoulder. 

She tenses for a moment before nodding jerkily, turns to face him. He follows the shape of her face with his eyes, can only glance at the raging bruise on her neck for a moment before he starts to feel dizzy with rage and regret. He reaches up to cup her cheek, gently, feather soft. She turns her head into it as her hand comes up from beneath his, tracing her thumb against the lines of his bandaged wrist. She breathes in sharply and closes her eyes, as though the words she breathes out are too painful to witness. 

“How do we come back from this?” 

There’s a heart-wrenching look of guilt and sorrow etched on her face. For Clarke. For him. For impossible choices. 

Her breathing evens out, her hand going slack beneath his own. He takes it and wraps it in his fingers. Presses a kiss into the palm of her hand. 

“We’ll find a way,” he says, his voice a puff of air between the two of them.”We always do.” 

She jerks suddenly in her sleep, her thumb once again slipping down to the edge of the bandages on his wrist. Even in sleep she seems to know what it is; he watches her face contort into abject misery. 

He threads his fingers through hers, grips them firmly in place. 

“I don’t regret it,” he breathes out, his words firm and unyielding. He finds courage in the darkness of the night, in the steadiness of her breathing. “I’d make the same choice again. I choose you, Abby Griffin, over everything else in this life. I refuse to imagine a world without you. I won’t live in one.”  

He wants to say more - about how sorry he for leaving her, how often he thought of her when he did, how the thought of losing her hurt worse than all his hours hanging on that cross. 

He doesn’t, though; the weariness he’s barely held at bay finally pulls him under. His eyes close and he feels himself falling into sleep. 

In the last moment before he drifts off completely, he feels the soft press of her lips against his own. 

He hears her words brush across him, barely louder than a sigh. 

“I won’t live in one without you, either.” 

They lay down next to each other on the floor, the scent of dirt and blood still heavy in the air. Tomorrow they will have to find a way down the tower. Tomorrow they will find a way to pick up the pieces. 

Tonight they must find a way to live with all they’ve done.

Abby holds her spine rigid and straight, though he can see exhaustion drape itself across the lines of her body. She stares at the direction at the space where Clarke is, shrouded in darkness with Bellamy as they speak in low tones. 

“Abby, sleep,” he says, reaching out a tentative hand and laying it on her shoulder. 

She tenses for a moment before nodding jerkily, turns to face him. He follows the shape of her face with his eyes, can only glance at the raging bruise on her neck for a moment before he starts to feel dizzy with rage and regret. He reaches up to cup her cheek, gently, feather soft. She turns her head into it as her hand comes up from beneath his, tracing her thumb against the lines of his bandaged wrist. She breathes in sharply and closes her eyes, as though the words she breathes out are too painful to witness. 

“How do we come back from this?” 

There’s a heart-wrenching look of guilt and sorrow etched on her face. For Clarke. For him. For impossible choices. 

Her breathing evens out, her hand going slack beneath his own. He takes it and wraps it in his fingers. Presses a kiss into the palm of her hand. 

“We’ll find a way,” he says, his voice a puff of air between the two of them.”We always do.” 

She jerks suddenly in her sleep, her thumb once again slipping down to the edge of the bandages on his wrist. Even in sleep she seems to know what it is; he watches her face contort into abject misery. 

He threads his fingers through hers, grips them firmly in place. 

“I don’t regret it,” he breathes out, his words firm and unyielding. He finds courage in the darkness of the night, in the steadiness of her breathing. “I’d make the same choice again. I choose you, Abby Griffin, over everything else in this life. I refuse to imagine a world without you. I won’t live in one.”  

He wants to say more - about how sorry he for leaving her, how often he thought of her when he did, how the thought of losing her hurt worse than all his hours hanging on that cross. 

He doesn’t, though; the weariness he’s barely held at bay finally pulls him under. His eyes close and he feels himself falling into sleep. 

In the last moment before he drifts off completely, he feels the soft press of her lips against his own. 

He hears her words brush across him, barely louder than a sigh. 

“I won’t live in one without you, either.” 


	2. After you kissed me, with no space between us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He and Abby glance at one another, his hand reaching over to hers almost unconsciously; as though holding her hand throughout the long, tiresome journey back from Polis has replaced a lifetime of holding himself apart from her.

They’re back in Arkadia for all of one day before Clarke comes to them at dinner. 

“I need to talk to you,” she says, her voice somber. She doesn’t specify who she’s speaking to. It’s clear that she sees them now as a unit, inseparable from one another. 

He and Abby glance at one another, his hand reaching over to hers almost unconsciously; as though holding her hand throughout the long, tiresome journey back from Polis has replaced a lifetime of holding himself apart from her. 

“Right now?” He asks, getting ready to stand and clear their dishes away. 

She goes to nod - her head half-raised - when she glances down at their intertwined hands. Her eyes soften; the expression on her face flickers into grief for the briefest of moments before her features smooth out into practiced blandness once more. 

She shakes her head. 

“No, not tonight. Tomorrow morning, in the briefing room.” She attempts to smile at them, though it’s strained and obvious. “I’m going to head to bed early. I’ll see you then.”  

A small groove of worry appears between Abby’s brows. She reaches over and lays her hand on Clarke’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be there soon.” 

Clarke’s smile bends, becomes something more genuine and sad at the same time.

“Take your time.” 

Her words are directed at Abby, but her eyes glance over at him. 

They watch her turn and head out of the dining hall, everything about her muted and heavy. 

He squeezes Abby’s hand, waits for her to turn and face him. 

“Take a walk with me?” 

She smiles, though there’s a hint of confusion to it as she nods. 

He leads them out of the hall without a real destination in mind. The silence between them is easy, their pace slow and serene. He relishes the feel of her soft hand in his, the way she brushes up against him without worry or care. He doesn’t know what Clarke will tell them tomorrow morning, but he guesses it’s something that will make moments like this rare, even impossible. 

They find themselves outside standing side by side, Abby’s body pressed close to his. 

“I wish I had paid more attention in Earth Skills when we learned about the different constellations,” she admits, her head tipped up to face the sky. 

He smiles; then, after a moment’s hesitation, tugs her towards him. She lets herself be pulled to him, leans back against his chest, encircled by his arms. It’s the closest they’ve been without motivation - without please, or goodbye, or deception between them. 

He closes his eyes and savors the moment, the joy of being close for the simple reason of just wanting to. 

After a moment, he dips down his head down, his mouth by her ear as he points up towards the night sky. 

“There’s Gemini,” he murmurs, his finger outlining the pattern of stars. “They’re supposed to look like twins.”

She nods. 

“I can see that.” 

He shifts and points to another patch of stars. 

“That’s Columba. It’s supposed to be a dove.” 

She tilts her head up towards him, a skeptical look in her eyes. 

He laughs. 

“Yeah, I can’t really see it either. But that’s what Earth Skills taught me.” 

She smiles and settles back down against him. 

“I know that one,” she offers, pointing at the bright star directly above them. “Sirius, right?” 

He nods, his cheek brushing against the crown of her head. He reaches out and curls his hand around hers, draws an outline with their linked hands. 

“And that’s Canis Major - the Great Dog. It’s why Sirius is called the Dog Star.”

He lets their hands drop back down, though she keeps a firm grip on his. She laces the fingers of their other hands together and wraps herself in their intertwined arms. He rests his chin gently atop her head and closes his eyes, content to spend the rest of the night standing with her wrapped in his arms if that’s what she wants.   

“See? I didn’t need to pay attention in Earth Skills after all,” she points out, a note of teasing in the words. Her next words are softer, the tone tender and wanting. “I have you.” 

He almost drops a kiss into the crown of her hair at that, catches himself in time to merely brush his cheek against the softness of her hair. 

“You do,” he affirms, his voice soft and sincere. “Always, Abby.”  

She breaths in deeply and squeezes his hands before unlocking their fingers. She turns to face him, her hands drifting to rest lightly around his waist. She tips her head up and looks him squarely in the face, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. The sliver of space between them is so small that he can feel her breath ruffle against his jaw, can see each individual eyelash flutter in the wind. 

Then, there’s no space at all. 

He dips his head and presses his lips against hers, his hands coming up to cup her face gently against his. She steps closer into him, her arms wrapping around his waist as he deepens the kiss. Their movements are slow and deliberate, the slide of their tongues unhurried, exploratory. As though they have all the time in the world. As if there’s no one in the world but the two of them. 

Finally, with one last, lingering kiss, he breaks the contact; rests his forehead against hers. He peeks down at her through his lashes, her look of dazed happiness sending a burst of warmth through his chest. 

He steps back, takes in her finger combed hair and swollen lips; then sees a curious, lingering question in her eyes. 

He skims the slope of her jaw with his fingers, brushes his thumb across the rise of her cheekbone as he works through the answer. He wonders at his honesty, at the rightness of the moment, at the timing of the universe. Then he looks her in the eye and wonders only why he’s waited so long. 

“I love you,” he says, the words firm and sure. “I love you and I thought you should know when the only reason for it is that it’s the truth.” 

He keeps his eyes on hers, his expression calm and sincere even though his heart feels ready to rip through his chest.  

He doesn’t know what she’ll say or how she’ll react, if it’s the right moment or the best time. All he knows is this: 

He doesn’t want an admission that explodes in the midst of crisis. He doesn’t want the reason to be fueled by hopelessness or anguish. 

He wants this to be different; this, his last and greatest secret that he’s held from her. He wants to give it freely -  without reservation, without desperation, and without expectation. 

He’s about to say as much, to explain that he doesn’t need or expect it back. That the simple act of letting her know can be, is enough. 

He doesn’t have the chance to, though, because in the next moment Abby surges forward, closing the space between them and kissing him fiercely. She threads her hands in his hair and presses her body against him fully, her tongue tasting the contours of his mouth, the feel of her seemingly everywhere at once. He groans when she grazes her teeth against his bottom lip, feels her smile against him as he does. 

She slows her movements, the tide of the kiss receding to something softer, more lavish. She leaves him with a final kiss before she pulling away to look at him fully. 

“I love you, too.” 


	3. When you were drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stand like that for a long, quiet moment; her fingers warm against his back, his slowly brushing through the long strands of her hair. He breathes her in; the words burst from him in a long exhale. 
> 
> “It isn’t fair.”

It’s a week after he finds out that the world is ending that he goes and gets incredibly, fantastically drunk. 

He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t even like drinking, truth be told. He never has. 

Which is what he blames his current state on. 

A lifetime of turning away alcohol has left him with a pitifully low tolerance to what turns out to be an especially strong batch of Monty’s moonshine. 

He stumbles outside and leans against a wall, waits for the world to stop tilting before he sits down hard on a nearby bench. He puts his head in his hands and tries to will the world into stillness. 

Which is where Abby finds him a few minutes later.

“Have you been drinking?” She asks, incredulous. 

“No,” he retorts, looking in her general direction rather than directly at her because he can’t quite see straight. “I’m fine.” 

She leans over, unconvinced, then folds her arms across her chest. 

“Marcus, you smell like a still.” 

He’s about to protest, ask her how she even knows what a still smells like, when a wave of nausea promptly forces him to clench his jaw shut. He closes his eyes and waits for the moment to pass. Once it does, he slowly pries his eyes open and tries to read the expression on her face. He thinks maybe it’s the alcohol, but she looks half exasperated, half amused rather than the angry that he expects. 

“Are you mad?” He asks, because this seems like something to be mad about. The world’s ending in six months, they have weeks to figure out how to save the human race, and his apparent solution is to get drunk. 

She sighs and reaches into her back pocket, pulls out a silver flask. 

“Just that you beat me to it.” 

She raises the flask in his direction, then takes a long drink. She caps the bottle and returns it to her back pocket, sits down next to him and rests her head on his shoulder. 

“Happy birthday, Marcus.” 

He snorts and throws his arm around her shoulder, tilts his head until it’s resting on top of hers. 

“Hardly seems like an occasion to celebrate.” He sighs and closes his eyes. Feels like that’s the best way to keep himself stable. “I didn’t mean to get so drunk. I just felt like a drink after that meeting and somehow this happened.” 

She huffs a small laugh. 

“Understandable.” She turns to face him, rests her head on his chest as she loops her arms around his waist. “I think we’re allowed one night of not holding it together.”  

It isn’t true. Even in his alcohol addled state, he knows that it isn’t. Every night and every moment should be focused, dedicated towards stopping the march of the oncoming nuclear apocalypse. 

But he lets it pass. He knows Abby says it so he won’t feel bad for his behavior. They stand like that for a long, quiet moment; her fingers warm against his back, his slowly brushing through the long strands of her hair. He breathes her in; the words burst from him in a long exhale. 

“It isn’t fair.” 

He knows that it’s silly and childish for him to say. But he also knows that he means it with everything he has; it’s only the alcohol that renders him wearied enough to say out loud. 

Once the words are free, he finds he can’t keep himself from speaking. 

“I knew there’d be fallout from what happened in Polis. That’s what I thought we’d have to deal with. It’s not like I thought about you and I finding a nice spot nearby, building a house, planting a garden. Watching the sun go down every night over the lake as we drink that Trikru tea you like so much.” 

She laughs, buries her face into his chest as she does. The sound makes him laugh in return. With a start, he realizes it’s the first time either of them have laughed in weeks. 

Some far away part of him is sad at that, but he buries it under the fuzziness of moonshine. 

“That’s really specific for something you apparently didn’t think about,” she notes, a teasing lilt to her words. 

He buries his face in her hair, finds himself too drunk to find a way to cover up what’s he’s just said. Ultimately realizes he doesn’t want to. 

“It would be nice though, wouldn’t it?” 

Abby tilts her head up and looks at him, a tenderness to her gaze. She reaches up and brushes the hair back from his forehead before kissing him softly. Their eyes meet as she smiles and nods her head. 

“It will be.” 


	4. That made me feel like shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What were you planning to do tonight?” She interrupts, stepping closer to him. “Tell me you love, kiss me, make love to me - just to go off and die tomorrow like none of that matters?” She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself, closes herself away from him. 
> 
> He flinches against the words. At the prophecy in them. At the coldness of his actions laid bare.

He reaches out and catches Bellamy’s sleeve before he can file out the door with the rest of the group.

“I need a promise from you.”

The words are furtive, a secret favor in the guise of an order.

Bellamy hesitates, then nods firmly in assent.

“Anything.”  

Marcus exhales, knows his next words are an unfair ask. Knows that Bellamy is the only one he can trust them to.

“If this all goes sideways tomorrow, I need you to make sure that Abby gets out. Even if it means leaving me.” He pauses, looks at Bellamy pleadingly. “Especially if it means leaving me.”

“I can’t agree to that,” Bellamy cuts in quickly. He looks closely at Marcus. “Abby,” he says, stressing the syllables of her name, “will never agree to that. Neither will Clarke.”

Marcus grimaces.

“I know. That’s why I need you to promise not tell them.”

Bellamy crosses his arms in front of him and leans back on his heels.

“That’s two promises, sir.”

He tries to smile at that, but it comes out contorted and pained. 

“If anything goes wrong, if someone needs to stay back - it’ll have to be me. It’s what’s best for our people, Bellamy. I know you see that.”

Bellamy gives him a long, searching look.

“Sir, I don’t think - .”

His words are cut short by the sound of someone clearing their throat by the door.  

They both turn towards the sound. Standing in the doorway is Abby, her expression a thunderclap of anger and hurt.

The tension in Bellamy’s shoulders dissipate, the look of relief obvious on his face. He envies the younger man. He can feel his own heart sinking, the resolve in his chest spreading out and coalescing into his spine. He stands up straight and schools his features into measured blankness; plants his feet firmly in preparation of the argument he knows is coming. 

“Bellamy,” she intones, the flattened affect of her voice at odds with the scorching fury in her gaze. “Can you give Marcus and me a moment, please?”

Bellamy nods and gives Marcus a look that is both pitying and satisfied as he heads out the door.

He waits as Abby slowly makes her way to him. A few feet from him she stops and looks at him expectantly. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“Abby, I - .” 

“What were you planning to do tonight?” She interrupts, stepping closer to him. “Tell me you love, kiss me, make love to me - just to go off and die tomorrow like none of that matters?” She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself, closes herself away from him. 

He flinches against the words. At the prophecy in them. At the coldness of his actions laid bare.

He takes a slow step forward and reaches for her, wants nothing more than to draw her to him and wrap her in his embrace. The look in her eyes stops him though, and his hands drop, hang heavy at his sides instead. 

“Abby, if I die, but the world goes on,” he trails off at the look of anguish that crowds her face, forces himself to meet her eyes and continue. “You’ll be… you’d be okay. You have other people in your life. Other people who love you. People who need you.” He shakes his head and motions between the two of them. “It’s not the same for me.” 

He says it dispassionately, without inflection, to let her know that he neither wants nor deserves sympathy of any kind for the facts he’s laid before her. He thinks back to the words he spoke to her that night in Polis, repeats them again in this moment of too bright wakefulness: 

“I refuse to imagine a world without you, Abby. I won’t live in one.”  

A long, quiet moment passes between the two of them. Abby drops her head, seems to deflate in front of him. She takes a deep breath and looks up at him, her expression so lost and alone that his bones ache with it. 

“And what about what I want?” She asks, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She moves forward and rests her head on his chest, arms folded neatly on either side. Her words are so soft he has to dip his head low to hear. “What about my life without you, Marcus? My world without you?”

He brushes his cheek against hers. 

“You’d be fi- .” 

She shoves him away, hard. Frustration and fury crease the corners of her eyes. 

“I would survive, Marcus. But it couldn’t be a life. Not without you.” She breathes out harshly, stares at him with a ferocity that makes him both want to step back and also move to scoop her up in his arms. “I love you, Marcus. I meant it when I said it. I mean it now.” 

“Abby,” he says, her name a plea. He reaches for her, but brushes only empty air as she steps away from him. “I love you. More than anything. That’s why - that’s the reason. I’d always choose you over me. You _must_ see that.” 

“You say you love me,” she breathes out, her voice cracking at the word. “But I don’t want your love if it means you always trying to leave me behind.” 

She gives him one last look before turns and walks quickly out the door. He looks at the space where she was standing and tries to keep himself from falling into the yawning black hole of despair he sees before him. 


	5. When you were scared and crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m glad it’s you here with me, Marcus.” Her shivering slows, along with her breathing. “I love you.” She sighs, then takes a shallow breath in. “Tell Clarke - .”
> 
> He shakes his head and grips her hand tightly.
> 
> “You’ll tell her yourself, Abby. The humvee is coming. Please, just hold on.”

Somehow, everything goes wrong, but they still succeed.

He’s still _alive_.

He’s exhilarated and exhausted as he exits the reactor room. There’s an angry burn on across his arm, a throb in his chest that he thinks is a cracked rib or five, a half dozen cuts all over his body, a gash on his head that won’t stop bleeding - but he’s alive.

The only thing he can think as he walks down the hall is _Abby, Abby, Abby_ \- her name a mantra that pushes him forward, keeps him moving one foot in front of the other.

He rounds the corner, hand out against the wall for support, and feels the blood drain from his face.

Propped against the wall of the hallway is Abby, pale and unmoving. The hallway is dimly lit, but he can see  clothes are covered with blood - so much of it that it’s starting to gather on the ground around her. Bellamy is leaning over her, his head tipped low.

He can’t breathe. He can’t speak. He thinks his heart has stopped beating. He thinks his lungs must no longer work. The world slows and the colors bleed into black around him. He finds himself unable to move; wonders if he’ll spend the rest of his life in this room, trapped in this moment.

Bellamy lifts his head. Looks at him for a breath, eyes wide with surprise. Then, relief.  

“You’re alive.”

At Bellamy’s words, Abby’s chest rises slightly; Marcus watches as she lifts her head a fraction from the wall to meet his eyes.

The world comes screaming back into color, into motion, into noise. His lungs ache with the force of the breath he takes in and his heart jumps into his throat, strangling the next word he tries to get out.

“Abby.”

He half walks, half falls to her side; pushes the hair from her face as he takes in the sight of her.

There’s a large slash across her forehead that he knows needs stitches - the blood from it soaking the hair near her face. A quick glance shows him that her arms are covered with at least a dozen cuts of varying sizes. He looks closely as the right side of her chest where blood has soaked through her shirt, and his heart stutters and sinks. A few inches below her collarbone, running alongside her ribs, is a hastily bandaged wound. He knows it must be deep because the bandage is already almost soaked through.   

“You’re alive,” she whispers, her hand coming to cup his face. She takes a long, slow breath in; he can feel her tremble at the effort of it.

He snaps into focus.

“Bellamy, go find the others. I’ll stay with Abby. We’ll start heading towards the east exit of the containment building.”

Bellamy nods and scrambles up, pausing briefly by the door to reach down and grab something off the floor. He turns and tosses a battered medkit to Marcus.

“It got thrown in the explosion, but I think everything’s still intact,” Bellamy says before sprinting out the door.

He turns back to Abby, grimaces as she takes a long, wheezing breath in.

“What can I do? Should I stitch up th - .”

She shakes her head.

“The glass punctured a lung, but it didn’t hit an artery.” She smiles at him, but the only thing that registers is the tinge of blue he can see layered over her lips. “We can make it to the east doors.”

He loops his arm gently around her shoulders and helps her stand; the effort of it leaves him stained with Abby’s blood all along his side.

He shifts so that he can take on more of her weight, the movement drawing his attention back to tender ribs. He takes a sharp breath in an attempt to keep from screaming aloud.  

“Wish I could do that,” Abby gasps out, the words strained. She reaches for his hand and wraps it in hers.

He tightens his grip on her and they move, little by little, eastward towards the exit. The rasp in Abby’s breathing grows more pronounced, her movements more labored and sluggish.

“Abby, we need to stop. Bellamy can find us here.”

Even in the darkened hallway it’s obvious how pale she is, a disturbing blue spreading up from her fingertips.

She shakes her head.

“Outside is better,” she wheezes, voice laced with pain. “We need light.”

He wants to argue, to force her to stop. But he keeps going. He doesn’t want her to waste her breath arguing with him. Every step forward is agony, the pain in his ribs and in his head blinding. The only thing keeping him moving forward is the heavy, scraping sound of Abby’s breathing, each gasp of air seemingly ripped from her chest. It pushes him onward step by step.

They finally make it outside, the light blinding after their long journey in near darkness. He lays Abby gently on the ground, barely able to keep his panic at bay. The paleness of her skin is overlayed with a tint of blue, the right side of her shirt dripping with blood.

“Oh, shit.”

He turns and sees Murphy standing just to the right of him, a stricken look on his face. Bellamy stands just behind him, breathing heavily.

“Needle decompression, John.”

Abby’s voice is a rasp of agony, torn from her wounded lungs. Still, she manages to stare straight at Murphy as she says it, somehow conveys confidence and calm in the midst of despair.

Murphy nods and moves towards the medkit. He draws out a long, thick needle and visibly blanches. He shakes his head as if to clear it, then kneels next to Abby and takes a deep breath. He exhales sharply before firmly sticking almost the full length of the needle into her rib cage.

Marcus cries out at the same time Abby takes in a deep, gasping breath. She takes a few more slow breaths before she turns to Murphy and manages a small smile.

“I knew I taught you well.”

Murphy breathes out slowly before shaking his head.

“If I never have to fucking do that again, it’d be too soon.”

“Hey,” Bellamy calls over to them, his ear hovering above the radio, “Murphy, we need to go. There’s debris blocking the path of the humvee. They need help moving it.”

Murphy clambers up, but stops when Marcus reaches out to grab his hand in both of his.

“Thank you, Murphy.”

Murphy hesitates, then nods. He leaves with his trademark smirk on his face, but his eyes say something different:

_Don’t thank me yet._

* * *

He watches them round the corner and turns back to Abby.

Her breathing loses the rasping quality to it, but the blue tinge remains on her lips and fingertips.  He sits down gingerly next to her and twines his fingers with hers, wraps his other hand around their intertwined ones.

“Where’d they go?” she asks, her voice soft and wondering.

“They’re getting the humvee. They’ll be here soon, Abby. Just hold on.”

She nods, though her eyes flutter close.

“I’m cold,” she whispers. Suddenly she’s shivering fiercely, as if the words unleashed an icy torrent over her body.

He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over her body. She inches her hand out from underneath it and grabs on tightly to his own.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me, Marcus.” Her shivering slows, along with her breathing. “I love you.” She sighs, then takes a shallow breath in. “Tell Clarke - .”

He shakes his head and grips her hand tightly.

“You’ll tell her yourself, Abby. The humvee is coming. Please, just hold on.”

“I wish last night…” Her breath catches, then quickens slightly. A tear trails down the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m the one leaving you behind.”

The words tear through him, wrap themselves around his heart like a razorwire noose. His eyes blur with tears. He turns his face away so they don’t fall onto her, stinging the cuts he tried desperately to shield her from.

He tries to speak softly, but his throat burns with a swallowed down sob and his words come out a strangled cry instead.

“No, Abby. You - .” He takes in a trembling breath and attempts to steady his voice. He manages to - just barely; a small miracle considering the tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you today. I should’ve gone after you last night.” His voice shakes with the struggle of holding back a sob. “I should’ve told you I loved you sooner.”

Her hand twitches in his when he says it. A smile flits across her face, though her breath hitches as it does - as though even that effort is too much.

“You love me,” she whispers, an airy, dreamy quality to her voice that makes it seem like she’s floating away from him. “It’s enough that I know.”

He can’t help it. The sob he’s been holding back tears itself from his throat. Once it’s loose, he can’t stop the cry that follows it - an angry, agonizing thing that crawls up from the depths of his misery. He grits his teeth to silence the noise, his entire body shuddering from the effort.

“It isn’t, Abby. It isn’t enough.” His voice is a broken, shuddering noise, carried along by a wave of despair. “It won’t be a life. Not without you.” He wipes his eyes. “Stay with me, Abby. Please. Stay with me.”

She opens her eyes slowly. There’s a look of confusion in her eyes before she takes him in.

“I’m trying,” she whispers. She takes a long, halting breath in, as though she’s trying to lengthen the space between her breathing, then goes limp.

* * *

His cry of alarm is interrupted by the roar of the humvee turning the corner and screeching to a stop.

Clarke leaps from the humvee and rushes to Abby’s side, followed closely by Murphy and Bellamy. Clarke reaches up and lays her fingers on Abby’s neck. She breathes a small sigh of relief that’s tempered with a grimace.

“She’s alive but - .” She breathes in sharply. “Just barely.”

He breathes a stuttering sigh of relief as Murphy grabs his arm and begins cleaning it with antiseptic.

“I’m fine,” he growls, though he’s too weak to wrench his arm from Murphy’s grasp. “Help Abby.”

Murphy continues cleaning his arm as he reaches down into a medkit.

“One,” he says, eyes trailing over the cut on Marcus’ head and the burn on his arm, “that is definitely not true.” He sets down the antiseptic and picks up a syringe attached to a long plastic tube. “And two, I am.”

Murphy looks up quickly at Clarke, who has just finished cleaning an area on Abby’s arm. She nods at him and he tosses her another needle.

“Abby’s lost a lot of blood,” he says to Marcus as he uncaps the syringe. “Guess who happens to be a universal donor?” He grabs Marcus’ arm and sticks the syringe in. He hands the bag to Bellamy who’s towering over them all. He holds bag up, connects another tube to it and tosses the needle point end to Clarke.

They wait for the bag to fill up halfway before Clarke gently inserts the needle into Abby.

“Will it work?” He asks, his head already feeling light.

Murphy glances at him.

“It should. But I don’t want to take too much out of you because you’re bleeding from about a half dozen places.”

He shakes his head.

“Take it all, if that’s what it takes.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Murphy snaps. “I’m not going to save Abby’s life at the cost of your own. She’d never forgive me for it and you’re an asshole for even suggesting it.”

Marcus blinks rapidly at the boy’s harsh words. He closes his eyes and begins to imagine Abby going through the agony he just had to endure. His heart shudders with guilt and shame.

“You’re right.” He breathes in deeply and rests his forehead against his bent knee. “Will it be enough?

Murphy clears his throat.

“We’ll be ok. We just need enough to get her heartrate up enough to get back to Arkadia.”

They’re all quiet after that. He closes his eyes to keep the world from spinning. After a long moment, he feels Murphy check his pulse.

“How is she?” Murphy asks.

A rustle, then -

“Her pulse is stronger,” Clarke murmurs. “It should be enough for now.”

He’s drifting on the edge of consciousness. He feels the needle get pulled out of his arm, opens his eyes to see Clarke and Bellamy lifting Abby on stretcher and carrying her off into the humvee.

Then, Murphy is there beside him, raising his arm to loop it around his shoulders.

“Alright, Kane. We’re heading home.”

He squints at the humvee then looks over at Murphy as they start walking.

“Abby?”

“She’ll make it. Thanks to you.”

He shakes his head.

“Thanks to you.” He’s quiet from a moment, then wonders aloud. “How’d you know?”

“How’d I know what?” Murphy grunts. He tries to keep his full weight off of the boy, but finds his steps heavy, his mind sluggish.

“How’d you know I was a universal donor?”

“Oh. I - uh - memorized everyone’s blood type who was on the mission team.” Murphy huffs and shakes his head.  “Just in case. You know how shit always tends to get shot to hell. So I figured - you know. Be prepared and all that.”

Marcus nods, finds it odd that he hears a tone of embarrassment in Murphy’s voice.

He’s about to comment on it when Murphy begins to speak, his voice low.

“She went after you.” Murphy glances over at him and sees his look of confusion. “When the pipes burst and the blast doors closed - she went after you. That’s why she was in the building in the first place.”

He closes his eyes and tries to fall into the wave of exhaustion that’s pulling at him.  He doesn’t want to feel the guilt wash over him.

“She wasn’t supposed to follow me.”

Murphy shrugs.

“Well, she did. I think she always will.” Murphy’s quiet for a long moment.

He feels the weariness start to pull him under, the combination of blood loss and emotional turmoil too much for him to stay awake. The last words he hears before he loses consciousness come from Murphy, but they echo in his mind in Abby’s voice.  

“Maybe you should stop trying to leave her behind.”


	6. While we were driving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, Abby,” he says, an apology to a conversation they never stop having. He thinks of the crawling, desperate feeling of hopelessness when he felt her go limp in his arms. The wretched reality of a life without her. He thinks of their situations reversed - him lying heavy in her arms, him bleeding out over her, him leaving her. 
> 
> Him leaving her. 
> 
> (Maybe you should stop leaving her.)

He wakes abruptly, with some phantom monster chasing him from sleep. 

He bolts up from where he was lying and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Every part of him aches. Muscles he wasn’t even aware existed twinge and snap with every breath he takes. 

He leans forward on the bench and rests his head in his hands. Breathes in deeply in an attempt to push away the waves of nausea that are slowly crawling up his throat. He manages it somewhat, though it only makes him more aware of the the fact that his head still throbs with every slow thump of his heart. 

“Here.” 

Clarke reaches back from the front seat and pushes a canteen of water into his hands. He takes it and returns the gesture with a grateful smile.

The water helps settle the nausea and calms the ache in his head somewhat; enough for him to sit up straighter and take in his surroundings. 

They’re still in the back of the humvee, the steady hum of the engine the only noise in the car. Abby is laid out on a stretcher directly across from him - her skin still alarmingly pale, but her breathing deep and even. 

He takes in a deep breath of relief at the sight of her; she’s injured and still and sheet white - but alive. 

He turns towards Clarke. 

“How long until Arkadia?”  

“Another hour, at least. There’s been a lot of debris on the road from the explosion.” He reaches over and checks his pulse, ducks her head to look directly into his eyes. “How are you feeling?” 

He shrugs, has to keep the movement slight to keep his muscles from screaming out. 

“Like hell. But I’m alive.” 

She nods. They’re both quiet for a moment as they stare at Abby. Then, Clarke reaches and gently rests her hand on his shoulder. 

“Murphy was afraid you had a concussion. I think you might, too. Think you can stay awake for another hour?”

He nods, then eases his body back onto the bench and leans against the wall. After a moment, he tilts his head and looks over at Abby.   

He slowly inches over on the bench so that he can be close enough to reach out and grab her hand. 

At his touch, she stirs. Her eyes open slowly, a somewhat glazed look to them as she takes in her surroundings. 

“Hey,” he says softly, the word a _hello_ and _thank god_ and _I love you_ rolled into one. 

She must realize it because she smiles at him, the expression brightening her wan face. 

“You’re alive,” she whispers, her voice rough and unsteady. “We made it.” 

She lifts their clasped hands up slowly. Her movements are slow, a wince of pain on her face even as she tilts her head to brush a kiss across his scratched and burned fingertips. 

A jumbled collection of thoughts crowd his mind, push against each other in steady succession. He thinks - 

_This is all my fault.  
 _I thought I was keeping you safe._  
_ _I didn’t think you would follow me._ _  
I don’t know what I would have done if you had died._ __  


He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and leans forward to brush the blood-matted hair from her face.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” he says, an apology to a conversation they never stop having. He thinks of the crawling, desperate feeling of hopelessness when he felt her go limp in his arms. The wretched reality of a life without her. He thinks of their situations reversed - him lying heavy in her arms, him bleeding out over her, him leaving her. 

Him leaving her. 

_(Maybe you should stop leaving her.)_

He swallows thickly. 

“I shouldn’t have left you.” 

He leans over their clasped hands and whispers _I love you_ over and over again; a penitent mouthing a prayer of forgiveness to the only god he’s ever worshiped. 

 “I won’t leave you behind. I never will again. We’re in this together, no matter what.”


	7. When we were on top of the world, after it was over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lets go of the radio just in time to catch Abby as she launches herself into his arms, her arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders tightly. 
> 
> He laughs and grips her waist, spins her around like a giddy, carefree teenager that he never was.

In the immediate aftermath, the world goes completely silent. His entire body goes numb; he swears he stops breathing for a full minute. 

Then, he feels a warm pressure on his hand. 

He turns and looks at Abby, her expression as stunned as he feels. 

“Marcus,” she says, her voice haltingly, hesitatingly joyful, “I think we did it.” 

He takes a deep breath and reaches his other hand out to touch the metal in front of him. It’s cool and silent, the reactor dormant. 

“We did it,” he breathes out, hardly able to believe it. He looks over at her and feels his face break into a smile. “We actually did it.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment, grinning through the grime and sweat that coats both their faces. There’s still something surreal about the moment, as if they’re caught in a dream that both of them are afraid to wake up from.  

“Kane?” 

Bellamy’s voice comes through the radio strapped to his belt. 

“Yeah, Bellamy. We’re here.” 

“Sir, did it work? It seems like it worked. Everything is all clear out here.” 

He smiles so hard his cheeks hurt, smiles so wide he thinks he must look insane. Only Abby’s smiling just as widely, just as earnestly. At least they both look crazy, then. 

“It worked, Bellamy. We did it.” 

A loud whoop sounds from the radio, a fuzzy cheer echoing in the background. 

“Holy shit, we did it. Everyone’s alright and you’re alive. Holy shit, sir. We really did it. I - wow.” Bellamy laughs, a freer, younger sound than Marcus has ever heard from him before. “We’ll see you out here soon.” 

“See you soon, son.” 

He lets go of the radio just in time to catch Abby as she launches herself into his arms, her arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders tightly. 

He laughs and grips her waist, spins her around like a giddy, carefree teenager that he never was. 

“I love you,” he says, kissing her between each word. He feels nearly drunk with happiness. He slides his hands up her arms and cups her face in his hands, punctuates every few words with a soft kiss. “I love you and I get to spend the rest of my life with you and the rest of my life is going to be a lot longer than I thought it was going to be a few hours ago.” 

Some remote, disbelieving part of him is almost appalled that he’s saying these things - speaking of the future, talking in terms of forever. Feelings he’s harbored for so long but never had the courage to speak out loud. For fear of rejection, at one point, then for fear of making promises and plans he could never be sure he could keep. 

But all that’s changed, now. A larger, nearer, radiant part of him doesn’t care that he’s saying it. Because for the first time since he could admit that he loved her, he can imagine, in the same breath, a life with her. A future that stretches further than he can even plan for. 

Abby skates her hands across his shoulders and loops her arms around his neck. Returns each kiss with one of her own, deepening each one until she swallows up his words completely. 

A few minutes later, they break apart - the only sound their breathless pants and the steady thrumming of their heartbeat. 

Abby rests her forehead against his, their mouths still only millimeters apart. He feels her smile against his lips. 

“We’re alive, Marcus,” she murmurs, half awed, half elated. “We get to have a life together.” She laughs - a joyful, disbelieving sound - then buries her head in his chest. “We get build a house and plant a garden and - .”

“Watch the sun go down every night over the lake as we drink that Trikru tea you like so much,” he finishes up for her, grinning at he says it. He ducks his head down to brush a kiss across her lips. “Although, I have to admit that I know nothing about building a house.” 

She chuckles and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

“We can learn,” she assures him. “We have the time.” 

He smiles and pulls her in for another kiss. 


	8. Under the stars and in the grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane + Abby get drunk and make out in the middle of Arkadia like they're teenagers.

It’s been nearly a week since they stopped the world from ending and Arkadia still hasn’t stopped celebrating.

At least, that’s what it feels like every time Marcus steps into the dining hall with Abby and sees the proliferation of drunken citizens on top of tables and chairs and sometimes one another.

“I didn’t think we even had this much moonshine,” he mutters to Abby as they make their way to a booth in the back of the cafeteria.

“We don’t,” Abby comments, snatching up a cup from the adjacent empty table and smelling it. “I think most of this is a gift from Azgeda.”

She tips the cup into her mouth. A look of surprise washes over her face.

“That’s surprisingly delicious.” She takes another long sip. “Much better than moonshine.” She tilts the cup towards him, eyebrow raised.

“It doesn’t take much,” he replies with a smile before reaching over and taking the proffered cup. It’s been the end of a long week of negotiations with the surrounding grounder clans, and an even longer five months of frantically, desperately trying to keep the world from ending. He finishes the rest of the liquid and sets the cup down with an approving nod.

It’s two hours and three shared cups later that he thinks maybe they need to slow down a bit. The world isn’t quite spinning, but it’s starting to tilt at an angle he thinks isn’t safe. He looks over at Abby, a wide grin on her face and her eyes glinting brightly, and extends his hand out to her.

“Walk with me?”

She nods and takes his hand, leans close to him as they make their way out of the increasingly raucous dining hall.

They walk out into the cool stillness of the night and find a grassy, deserted area in the shadows of their half constructed greenhouse. He sits down roughly - the world keeps shifting unfairly under him - and tugs on Abby’s hand to join him. She smiles and drops down next to him. She tilts her head for a moment, considering, then crawls between the bracket of his legs and leans against him, her back against his chest and arms draped on rise of his knees.

Abby lets her head loll into the curve between his neck and shoulder and sighs contentedly.

“I’m glad the world didn’t end because this weather is perfect.”

Her eyes are closed and her waves of thick brown hair hang loose around her bare shoulders - jacket forgotten somewhere in the dining hall after their second cup. Her face is turned up to the stars and her cheeks are flushed and all he can think is that she’s beautiful and carefree and lovely in a way that doesn’t think he’ll ever deserve.

He laughs and wraps his arms around her tightly, buries his face into her hair. The feel of her in his arms and the night air and the buzz in his veins pushes the next words out of his mouth:

“I’m glad the world didn’t end because I get to be here with you.”

It’s so sugary sweet and so blatantly honest that he almost immediately wishes he could swallow it back.

He doesn’t get a chance to, though, because in the next moment Abby shifts between him, turning her body to face him fully and crashing her lips against his.

It’s been months since their first kiss, but every kiss with Abby still feels unreal and heady. Like he’s trapped in the best kind of dream, one that he’ll wake up from in a few hours, blood roiling with longing and lust.

Except that he isn’t dreaming at all. His mouth is on Abby’s and his tongue is chasing hers. Her arms are around his neck and her hands keep drifting from his hair to his shoulders to underneath his shirt. His own hands are gripping the grass, his arms bent to keep them both half off the ground.

It’s an uncomfortable position.

Before his mind can really register what he’s doing, he leans forward and scoops his hands underneath her, lifting her up and depositing her back down gently so that he’s sitting up with her in his lap. She wraps her legs around him and arches against him, the movement causing waves of pleasure to sweep through his body. He flexes his fingers into the slope of her hips and licks his way into her mouth, his tongue probing and teasing hers.

He groans against her when she drags her fingers lightly down his back, the sound turning into something approaching a growl when he feels her smile against him. He bites down on her lower lip and it’s his turn to smile when she moans. He breaks the kiss and reaches up to cup her face in his hands, pushes wild strands of hair from her face.

“You know, I hadn’t planned on this when I asked you to come out here.”

She laughs. Then leans back slowly until she’s lying flat on the ground and pulls him down over her until he’s lying flush against her. Her breath grazes the outer shell of his ear as slowly kisses up his jawline.

“Really? Because I did.”

He arches into her as she slides under him, her hands tangled in his hair and mouth hot against the pulsepoint at his throat. He slides his hands down up plane of her stomach and underneath her bra, glides his palms over her hardened nipples.

Abby tugs roughly on his hair as she presses her lips against him, the kiss demanding and urgent. He moves his hands back down and grabs the edges of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head without breaking the kiss. He slips one hand underneath her and threads the other one in her hair. She snakes one hand between them and grabs the buckle of his belt and -  

“Oh god, you two. Get a damn room.”

Raven’s voice rings out in the night air and is equal parts wry, amused, and disgusted. They both look over at her, but her back is already turned and she’s walking towards the fire with Bellamy, Harper, and Monty in tow.

He looks down at Abby - her swollen lips, pupils blown nearly black - and chuckles low in his throat. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and laughs, the motion sending shivers down his spine.

He stands up quickly and extends his hand down to her, pulls her up and against him in one swift movement. He wraps his arms around her and ducks his head down to kiss her. Her mouth opens immediately under his as he reaches down to cup her ass and lifts her up against him, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist.  

He revels in the feel of her lips, the slide of her tongue against his as he slowly walks to the building he knows is immediately in front of him. He nearly drops her when she tightens her legs and grinds up against him, the movement sending shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through every nerve ending. Luckily, they hit the wall of the building just as his knees buckle; he braces her against it as he reaches out blindly for a door and stumbles in.

He kicks the door closed and returns his attentions back to Abby, who’s looking around with a half dazed look that’s half lust, half confusion.

“Are we in the greenhouse?”

He slides his hands up the sides of her torso, then to her back, his fingers quickly undoing the clasp of her bra. He palms her breast in his hands and drags his lips over the bared curved of her neck when she tilts her head back and moans.  

“She said to get a room.” He says in a low growl, kissing the the words into her throat. “She didn’t specify which one.”


End file.
